


Cold Waters to a Thirsty Soul

by Melanie_Athene



Series: To Err Is Human [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Humor, M/M, Post Season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-13
Updated: 2011-09-13
Packaged: 2017-10-23 17:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melanie_Athene/pseuds/Melanie_Athene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Still waters run deep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Waters to a Thirsty Soul

Sam startled awake as a clatter of high-heeled footsteps sounded outside the motel room door. He listened, pulse rate rapidly calming, as the bright chatter of two women's voices faded into the distance as they cheerfully began their day. A quick glance at the clock on the nightstand showed it to be nearing 10:00 am. He gave his wristwatch a long, disbelieving stare: the hour read the same. He couldn't recall ever sharing a room with Dean and having almost seven hours of uninterrupted slumber. Usually Dean woke him with strangled murmurs of unrest, or by getting up to go to the bathroom or to surreptitiously watch TV when sleep proved to be his enemy. But he hadn't heard a peep from his brother all night – not since Castiel's light show had finally ended.

Sam's gaze slid to the second bed as he sat up and gave a long, lazy stretch that popped his spine. Two heads shared a single pillow, their foreheads almost – but not quite – touching. Apparently Castiel and Dean had fallen asleep still wrapped in the glory of Castiel's returning Grace. Dean's hand was gently pressed to the ex-angel's heart, Castiel's fingers were firmly locked on Dean's left shoulder.

Sam's first instinct was to laugh himself silly at the sight of his oh-so-macho brother cuddled up with another man. That unthinking response swiftly died as his focus narrowed to his brother's face. Dean looked... young. Impossibly young. All the worries that weighed him down, all those burdens he carried that no man should ever have to bear, were gone. He was at peace in a way that Sam could not remember ever having seen before – certainly not in recent years, and not even when he was a child.

As for Dean's odd choice of a bed companion... Sam swallowed, his throat tightening in awe and wonder. If ever he had wanted proof that angels existed, all he had to do was look upon the sleeping Castiel's face. A face that could inspire sculptors, artists and poets with its innocence... its goodness... its ethereal beauty, for lack of a better description. His lips were curved in a small smile, the mirror image of the smile that Dean currently wore on his face.

The morning sun cast a halo around them both.

Sam forced himself to turn his eyes away. He had no right to witness this... this whatever it was. His intrusion was wrong in too many ways to count.

Quietly, he laid back down and pulled the bedcovers over his head. And then he began to fake the loudest, most obnoxious snorts and snores imaginable.

 

~*~

 

Dean's eyes fluttered open and he blinked with some surprise as he found himself held in Castiel's warm embrace – actually sharing his pillow with a sleeping companion who was still relaxed and serenely sound asleep, in spite of all the racket Sam was making. The cruel marks the ghost had left had vanished as if they had never been. Castiel's face, though heavily shadowed with stubble, was pale and smooth and glowing in the morning sun. His heart beat slow and steady beneath Dean's hand.

Dean chanced a glance over his shoulder at his snoring brother, before returning his gaze to Castiel's peaceful visage.

It seemed such a shame to disturb him, but it had to be done. The morning was slipping away. It was a miracle Sam hadn't already bounced out of bed and discovered them in their compromising position.

“Cas...” Dean said softly, and felt the ex-angel's heartbeat quicken just before his eyes flew open and a brilliant blue gaze caressed Dean's face.

“Dean.” Castiel made no move to end the stare or pull his hand away from its tight grip on Dean's arm.

“Good morning.” Dean smiled and was pleased to see an answering smile light Castiel's face. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, knowing what the answer would be before it was spoken, but needing to hear it anyway.

“Yes,” Castiel replied. “No bad dreams.”

“No bad dreams,” Dean confirmed, his smile breaking into a full out grin. “I think we've stumbled upon the secret to a good night's sleep.”

“So it would appear.”

“Works for me,” Dean chuckled.

“I too found it pleasant,” Castiel confessed shyly.

“Cas... Cas, I – ”

Sam gave a violent snort and muttered something under his breath as he shifted restlessly in his bed.

“Would you like to shower first?” Dean offered, in lieu of whatever it was he had been about to say. Clearly their private moment had come to an end; Sam was seconds away from wakening.

“No, thank you. You may go first.”

Dean patted his hand against Castiel's chest and tried not to sigh as Castiel's fingers slid reluctantly away from his brand. The bathroom door closed behind the hunter with a gentle snick of the latch.

“Thank you,” Castiel said quietly.

Sam peeked out at him from beneath the covers. “You knew?” he said.

“It was wise of you to not consider acting as a career.” Castiel smiled and easily dodged the pillow Sam threw at his head.

 

~*~

 

“Yeah, can do Bobby. No problem.” Sam hung up the phone and turned to face his curious audience of two. “There is an untunktahe in Oahe Ble,” he said.

“A what in the what?” Dean inquired.

“In Lakota mythology, Untunktahe is a water god with great magical powers,” Cas said helpfully. “I suppose, in this context, it might simply mean a generic water-spirit has taken up residence in Lake Oahe.”

“A mannegishi. You might have said so in the first place,” Dean reprimanded Sam.

“Where's the fun in that?” Sam laughed. “Oh, man... Your face...”

“Lake Oahe... I don't suppose you can narrow the search down some, Sam? That's a hell of a lot of water.”

“An old friend of Bobby's runs Spring Creek Resort, seventeen miles north of Pierre. It's a pretty ritzy place, very popular and usually booked solid months in advance. At least it was until this water-spirit started frightening customers away. It's been playing some pretty deadly jokes: overturning canoes, turning lines in mid-cast so that the hooks sink into the fishermen – one guy lost his eye last week.”

“It's always funny until someone loses an eye,” Dean deadpanned.

“No one has drowned yet,” Sam continued, ignoring his brother. “But several have come damned close and word is getting around that there are safer places to vacation. Since we're heading back that way anyway, I told Bobby we'd see what we could do to help his friend.”

Dean nodded and picked up his duffle bag. “We can be there in an hour or two,” he said. “There's some mighty fine fishing in that lake: walleye, chinook salmon, small mouth bass, pike...”

“We're there to work, not fish,” Sam said primly, closing the motel door behind them.

“I see no reason why we can't do both,” Dean argued, as the three men began to cross the parking lot.

“Shotgun!” Castiel blurted.

Sam and Dean turned to stare at him in surprise.

“I do not know what these fish look like,” Castiel explained. “Dean needs to describe them to me in detail and expound on how to capture them, so I can... not stick out like an inflamed pollex.”

“You mean a sore thumb?” Dean grinned. “He has a point, Sam. Sam?”

But Sam was already folding himself into the backseat of the car.

 

~*~

 

“Wow. Just... wow,” Dean breathed, looking around the complimentary 'cabin' they had been assigned for the duration of their stay. Three bedrooms, a jacuzzi in the spacious bathroom, cable TV, refrigerator, microwave, coffee pot and... what was that? Christ, a Wi-Fi.

“It's a far cry from those old shacks we used to hole up in with Dad,” Sam said. “Most of them didn't even have indoor plumbing.”

“Fuck,” Dean breathed, peering out a window. “Some dude in a uniform is out there manicuring the lawn. If this is roughing it, sign me up.”

“I don't know,” Sam said wistfully. “I kinda miss the ambiance, the solitude...”

“I'll tell you what I don't miss,” Dean grumbled. “Dirt floors and bugs. I don't miss them at all. This place is cool. He peered in a little closet off to one side of the cabin's front door. “Fishing gear,” he sighed happily. “What say we head for the lake and check things out? Where did Karst say the worst of the activity was centred?”

Sam pulled out the map he had tucked into his pocket and silently studied the notes he had jotted on it during their interview with the manager. “Here,” he said. “A couple of miles up from the docks. Four canoes have capsized there just in the past week. It won't take long to paddle up that way.”

“Is there a trail?”

“Yeah...”

“Thank you, then, I'll walk,” Dean said firmly.

“And carry all that gear?”

“A pole and a tackle box? I think I can manage that.”

“Dean, _water_ -spirit, remember? You're going to have to go out on the lake sooner or later.”

“Later it is,” Dean said. “Cas, are you going with Sam or me?”

“I want to come with you.”

Dean's face turned scarlet. Sam bit his lip almost hard enough to make it bleed.

“Okay, then,” Dean said weakly. “Let's go see if those fish are biting.”

 

~*~

 

The fish were not in a co-operative mood, but no one really seemed to care. Dean reclined on a sandy, well-shaded bank, his eyes shut tight against the blinding glitter of sunlight on the lake. His fishing rod dipped in the water as he dozed, the line slack and undisturbed. Out in the boat, Sam's luck was no better. His canoe drifted in a lazy semi-circle opposite Dean's position, moored in the shade of a towering old elm tree. Every now and then Sam swatted at a fly that was buzzing around his head. Aside from that irritated gesture, he appeared as close to sleep as his brother was.

It took a while for either hunter to notice the soft rumble of conversation a few yards farther up the shore. Dean was the first to crack open an eye to see who was disturbing his 'fishing'.

He recognized Castiel's gravelly tone instantly. The other speaker's voice was almost equally low pitched, the words heavily accented.

“I can show you where the fish are hiding,” the stranger said.

“I will get Dean, he is eager to provide us with our evening meal.”

“No. His presence is not required. Come, let me show you.”

Something in Dean's stomach knotted and coiled at the words. The fishing rod fell from his hand as he rose and silently crept nearer until he could peer through the underbrush and see the two men standing close – too close! – to the water's edge. Though, thankfully, Castiel was retreating farther inland step by slow and cautious step...

The dark-haired stranger advanced, intent on narrowing the distance between them. “Taku eniciyapi hwo?” he said softly, placing a possessive hand on Castiel's bare arm.

“Castiel.”

“Cas-t-el. Mni hiyupo...”

“Hee ya.” Castiel shook his head and backed away.

The stranger followed until he had Castiel pressed up against a tree, their eyes locking as he swayed in closer... closer... The pink tip of Castiel's tongue appeared, nervously wetting his lower lip. And that, as far as Dean was concerned, was the final goddamned straw.

“Hey!” he shouted, bursting into the clearing. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Tawicasa nawizi!” the stranger hissed, the handsome face he turned to Dean abruptly morphing into the hideous visage of an outraged water-spirit. Before Dean could more than take a step in his direction, the creature wheeled away from Castiel and plunged into the safety of the lake.

Sam gave a startled yelp as his canoe was violently rocked by the spirit's passing. Swiftly he paddled for the shore.

“What the fuck?” Dean repeated furiously, turning his anger on Castiel, there being no other target on which to focus at the moment. “Don't you know better than to talk to strangers? How could you let that sonofabitch get close to you like that? He almost had your liver for lunch.”

“I'm not sure he was after his liver, Dean,” Sam said, looking thoughtfully at Castiel's flushed face. “From where I was sitting, it looked like he was coming on to him.”

“Oh, that's just great. A horny, gay Oompa-Loompa.”

“Untunktahe,” Castiel corrected.

“Whatever!” Dean stepped forward until he was the one pressing Castiel up against the tree, “And you. You damn well flirted back!”

“I recognized the untunktahe for what he was, and I was simply attempting to keep him away from the lake. If a water-spirit's hair dries out, they will die.”

“Oh, there's a brilliant plan. And just how did you intend to distract him in order to keep him ashore that long?”

“Oh...” Castiel said meekly. “I did not think that far ahead.”

Dean snorted and stepped away. “You got that right,” he said, angrily stomping off towards the cabin.

“I didn't know you spoke Lakota,” Sam said, as his brother disappeared around a curve in the trail.

“I speak all languages,” Castiel said, gathering up Dean's abandoned fishing gear as well as his own. “That hasn't changed.”

“What did the spirit say?”

“He asked me my name. He invited me to 'come to the water'. I said no.”

“And what was that last bit he threw at Dean?”

Castiel pretended to inventory the contents of the tackle box.

“Cas?”

“Jealous boyfriend,” he mumbled eventually, a dark flush painting the back of his neck as he slammed the lid of the box and strode off down the path Dean had taken.

Sam's laughter followed him long after he was out of sight.

 

~*~

 

“Maybe Cas had the right idea,” Sam said as they enjoyed a free early dinner at the resort's four star restaurant, his fork scooping up another generous bite of fresh from the lake, pan-fried walleye.

“You mean putting out to keep that scum-sucking bottom feeder happy?” Dean abandoned his steak in favour of glaring at his brother. Castiel quietly continued to eat his pasta primavera.

“No... Well, kinda. The untunktahe obviously liked Cas, or we'd be fishing his corpse out of the lake. So... why not use him as bait?”

“You want to pimp for an Angel of the Lord?”

“I am no longer an angel, Dean.”

Dean transferred his glare to Castiel. “You're close enough for it to count,” he snapped.

“We've prostituted ourselves on any number of cases,” Sam argued.

“That's different. That was us... this is Cas.”

“It's not like we're going to tart him up in a short skirt and fishnet stockings. He just has to stand there. We'll be close by to protect his virtue.”

“Cas?” Dean said. “How do you feel about this?”

“We cannot leave that malicious creature in the lake. He will kill someone, Dean. Possibly several someones. It is only a matter of time.”

“Fine.” Dean shoved his still half full plate to the centre of the table. “We'll do it. But that doesn't mean I have to like it. And so help me, Cas, if you get dragged into that lake – ”

“I will be careful, Dean.”

“ – I'm not diving in there after you.”

 

~*~

 

Knowing the catnip-like effect it would have on the water-spirit, Sam set a small pouch of sacred tobacco on fire and wafted it around Castiel until the heavy aroma permeated his clothes and skin and hair.

Dean's nose crinkled disapprovingly as he handed Castiel a small silver knife. “You know what to do?” he asked.

Castiel nodded. “I cut my arm. The untunktahe will be summoned by the blood dripping into the lake. Before he appears, I am to move back to the clearing where you and Sam lie hidden. When he comes after me, I am to toss the contents of this vial upon him. You and Sam will ignite it. The untunktahe will perish.”

“Get away from the water as soon as possible,” Dean ordered. “This thing is fast. We only have one chance to get it right.”

Castiel nodded and moved to the water's edge. The silver knife glinted in the last rays of the setting sun as he slashed it across his forearm. Dark drops of blood fell to the water, and Castiel swiftly moved into position facing the lake, the sharp tang of copper competing with the acrid scent of smoke.

For several long minutes, nothing stirred except an errant breeze. And, then, a ripple shivered across the water's surface as the untunktahe rose from the silent depths and stalked across the sand with scarcely a whisper of sound.

“Cas-t-el...” the creature hissed. “Wana te niye...”

“No, Castiel said coldly. “It is you that must die.”

Everything happened quickly after that. Castiel threw the gasoline as the creature turned to flee back to the water, only to find two humans barring its path. Sam and Dean's lighters flared, and twin arcs of fire sped towards their target. The untunktahe went up in a burst of flame, as did the sleeve of Dean's jacket. Both human and water-spirit emitted unearthly howls, the untunktahe abruptly disintegrating into a shower of sparks, while Dean found himself unexpectedly flying through the air. He landed with a resounding splash, the lake's cold waters closing over his head.

“Dean!” Sam hollered.

Castiel was already wading out to Dean's rescue, his arm plunging into the chill depths to haul a sputtering Dean back to the surface.

“That went well, I think,” Sam said. “Overall, I mean,” he hastily added. “Not the part where you fell in the lake.”

“I did not fall,” Dean grumbled. “I was pushed!”

“I'm sorry,” Castiel offered contritely. “But some of the gas splashed on your clothes. I could not allow you to burn up with the untunktahe.”

“At least he went in after you.” Sam grinned.

“My hero,” Dean said, miserably squelching his way back to the cabin, shivering in the cool evening breeze and picking duckweed out of his hair. But the lingering glance he turned upon Castiel when he was sure no one was looking gave lie to his apparent anger.

 _No one's ass should look that good in cheap polyester,_ he mused, watching Castiel walk down the path ahead of him, chatting amicably with Sam about whatever it was nerds favoured as a topic of discussion. The blasted ex-angel didn't seem to care that he too was sopping wet, his clothing clinging to him like a second skin.

_Not that I made a habit of wondering what he was hiding under that damned trench coat, but – holy fuck! Who would have guessed that it hid such a hot little body? The dude's going to drive the chicks wild..._

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

Sam threw his brother an exasperated glare. “For the third time,” he said in an exaggerated drawl, “I asked: are you hungry?”

“Yes,” Dean replied. “I'm starving.”

“Me too,” Castiel said.

“Pizza okay with everyone?”

“Hmmm?” Dean murmured absentmindedly, lost in a sudden staring contest with Castiel.

“I said, is pizza – Oh, you know what? Never mind. I'll just let you two know when it gets here.”


End file.
